Amour dans la Nuit
by Mestophilies
Summary: Love in the Night: Precisely what would I not be able to understand? She didn't answer. She was still looking away from me, as she slowly took off her hat, her silky hair shining very slightly in the faint light of the moon. Zakuro x OC
1. Chapter 1: Love in the Night

Author's Notes: Okay, this is a reintroduction-to-writing-fanfiction fic, so don't expect miracles here. Oh, and if you're a fan of other pairings or something, well, don't waste your time flaming. If you don't like, just don't read. For the rest of you, please enjoy.

Disclaimer: It goes without saying, I don't own Tokyo Mew Mew.

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Every night.

I swear, she comes here every bloody night. Let's be honest; who the hell goes to church every night? At midnight to boot! I usually ask afterwards, who the hell even goes to church at all?

Only two answers really. Religious maniac or church organ player.

_Heh…_

What's so funny, you ask?

I _am_ the church organ player.

My name is Daisuke Akabane. I'm Japanese,though I don't look it, born and still live in Japan.

I'm a nobody; a sad atheist who had the misfortune of being good at playing the organ. I'm also a miser. You can tell by the distance of my house to the church. Two minutes walk is about how long it takes. The thing is, bus fares are too damned expensive these days, which is mostly why the house I bought is so near where I work.

At the moment, it's about five minutes to midnight and I was still at the church. I needed to practice before the prayer thing next morning. As I played, you can see the moonlight shining through the stained glass windows of the church, the coloured light falling to the floor.

Half a minute to midnight now. I played on, counting down the seconds until she arrived.

5..4..3..2..1..

_Creak!_

Door opened, in she came, door banged shut.

I kept playing.

She stepped forward, up the stairs towards the alter as she always did and when she reached it, she began to pray.

I sneaked a glance at her, my fingers pretty much on auto-pilot at this point.

She was wearing what she usually wore; a broad-brimmed hat and a big trench coat. The coat wasn't really long enough to hide her high-heeled boots. Nor was her hat big enough to hide her long silky hair. This brings me to another question; who the hell dyes their hair purple?

Not that I dislike the colour, mark you, but it does seem to be a bit over the top as a _hair_ colour. Just a bit.

At least it's a pretty dark shade of purple.

At least it's better than my hair...

Mine's blacker than the inside of a tar barrel and twice as greasy-looking. It's actually quite dry. Soft, a former classmate of mine called it. I gave her a good knock after that. She must have been crazy. Or drunk. I can't be bothered to cut it either. Long, bit longer than shoulder length actually, and straight; my hair's completely limp. No joke. My hair might as well be dead for all I know.

I stopped playing.

Time for me to head home. I stood up and placed my bag on the piano stool. Black as well, it's really an old doctor's bag I bought off a street hawker. I placed my music notes into it. and closed it. After closing the organ and picking up my hat from where I had placed it, I pushed the stool in and walked towards the door.

I had just put my hat on and was about halfway out the creaking door when I heard something; a sudden and very faint rustling noise.

I looked back.

I froze.

Why is she on her knees?

I took a step back into the church and let the door bang shut.

Now I was, what you call, caught between a rock and a hard place. I have absolutely no social skills whatsoever. I wouldn't know how to deal with women. Even the non-excitable types, if they actually exist of course. This one started to sound like she was crying. So trying to help her was a rock in itself. The hard place was that if I didn't do something, I'd feel guilty.

_Guilt_...

It was really no use in saying I'd forget or not feel guilty. I could feel guilty over anything, and I do mean _anything_. From seeing people less fortunate begging on the streets, I'd feel guilty because I, myself, was living a mildly comfortable life, while they had to scrounge for a loaf of bread. Anything and everything, I tell you.

So...to stay and try to comfort the woman or to not stay and feel guilty about it in the morning. That is the question.

Real tough choice...

_Sigh_...

I chose to stay.

I walked down towards the foot of the stairs. I had no idea what I was going to say. The climb up the stairs seemed too short for me. I was now about an arm length away from her. I never understood how I managed to get any sound out; my mouth didn't seem to want to work at that moment. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

All that came out was a quiet sort of low hiss. Not what I intended. I was aiming for friendly and comforting, but its better than what you could call my usual speaking voice. It's sort of deep and very quiet; quite dark and evil sounding at any rate. I didn't want to scare her, you see.

"Miss?"

What were you expecting? I didn't know her, except by sight, and I dare say she'd never even notice I was there, except by the sounds of the organ. That's me, the Invisible Man at your service. I'm pretty much anti-social and so never got any social skills obviously, which made it so ironic that I had to be the one to deal with this woman.

I cleared my throat.

"Miss?"

That still came out as a hiss and inwardly I cursed myself. Her head whipped round to look up at me. When I say up, I really do mean up. One thing I think I can boast about is my height; I'm about six feet five.

She just stared.

I would have if I were in her place. I'm by way of looking like something out of an old horror movie. Not that I got plastic fangs on or anything, but height, nigh bone-white skin, a very thin figure and black clothes make me something you really wouldn't want to bump into unexpectedly, in the middle of the night in an empty church. The almost abnormally thin figure from my very small appetite. The clothes, a present from one of my few friends, are quite black, almost gothic and have a very Victorian touch to it.

She was still staring.

I couldn't see her face very well; the hat cast a dark shadow across the upper half of the face, but I could pretty much feel her eyes on me. But I could see the tears still running down her face. What the hell am I supposed to do? Then I noticed I still had my hat on, and I quickly took it off.

I tried to speak again.

"Is everything alright, miss?"

Now _that_ sounded stupid. Was she alright my foot! Of course she ain't! I swore inwardly at myself again. Then realising I was frowning, I tried to put on a smile. It came out as more of a grimace. I was about to speak when she turned her head away from me, and a voice came, low, quiet and icy cold, from under the hat.

"Leave me alone."

I quickly shut my mouth again, annoyance evident in my face. No matter how much I wanted to help her; no matter how distraught she was, the last thing I was going to take from her was attitude. I cleared my throat loudly, hoping to get her to look up. She did.

"Miss," I said frostily, a very cold expression on my face, "I am not in the habit of being anything more than cold to complete strangers, certainly not _kind_. I am, however, making a special effort now of being civil to you. So could you kindly, please, _not_ treat me like some nosy busybody?"

She was staring at me again.

Her mouth was wide open, so were her eyes. Shock, perhaps? I had no idea. I think she was more...indignant at that little monologue. I could see a retort on the tip of her tongue as she took a deep breath, her lips parted. I suppose it was my expression. She shut her mouth and looked away again.

We both waited for the other to speak. Need I say I was again unsure about what to say? I doubt. Her though, I couldn't tell.

"You wouldn't understand."

Her voice was about as cold as mine when she spoke, but seemed fuel by some fire that burned within her. I frowned. Again, I was a bit ticked off. I've never thought myself as nosy, nor did I feel I was intruding, only helping, which is why I snapped back at her twice as cold.

"Precisely _what_ would I not be able to understand?"

She didn't answer. She was still looking away from me, as she slowly took off her hat, her silky hair shining very slightly in the faint light of the moon. I couldn't see her face. Hesitantly I placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. Her head whipped round, and inwardly I gasped.

_Lord_...

I knew that she would be pretty, from what little I could see earlier, but _bugger the Lord_...

At least my face wasn't turning red...

I had to admit, she was _very_ beautiful. The blue eyes were striking, a shade of azure I had scarely ever seen, one that would make the sky lower its head in shame. The skin was pale, not compared to me, mark you, but pale, porcelain really, compared to most. Her hair as I've said was long, but at close quaters you could see that it was soft, almost like silk, and I really mean _silk_. Same went with her long eyelashes. And those rosy, red lips...

All this flashed through my head in the space of a second. I gave myself a mental slap and got a hold over myself. Last thing I needed at the time was to act like a love-sick schoolboy.

I cleared my throat again. Straightening up, I said calmly: "Might I suggest we sit down somewhere? I doubt the floor's all that comfortable."

She didn't speak, but allowed me to help her up off the floor. She was still crying I could see. As we walked towards the benches, I noticed she was shivering. Was it the cold perhaps? I forgot to metion that it was the middle of November, and places like this church could get hell chilly late in the day. I had my jacket on, as well as a thick, long, winter over-coat. The only thing I could see she had against the cold was that trench coat and a turtleneck sweater, both of which looked a bit too thin for winter. I sighed and took off my over-coat.

I put it on her shoulders.

She stiffened slightly, before continuing to walk towards the benches. I followed, although I had absolutly no idea how this was going to end.

She sat down.

I followed her example, sitting down next to her. Tears were still running down her face, and I sighed silently as I pulled out a pocket handkerchief.

"Here," I said, handing it to her.

She looked at it and slowly raised it to wipe away her tears. I sat there watching her as she did that. She still sniffed once of twice, before looking up at me. I could see that her cheeks were still a bit damp. A saw another tear threatening to roll down from those eyes of hers again.

"Here, let me..."

I took the handkerchief back and gently dabbed her eyes and cheeks, making sure they were dry. Her breathing was still a bit shallow and I saw her eyes look into mine as I brushed stray strands of lavender hair out of her face. I saw a question form in her eyes. I waited, continuing to wipe her tears away.

"Why?"

All the fire seemed to have left her voice when she spoke. She seemed to have...given up? That's what it sounded like. I think I understood what she meant. My eyes locked with hers as I said, quietly: "I don't know really. I suppose the world would be a better place if everyone cared more about each other than themselves, eh?"

She didn't answer. I saw her eyes struggle to stay open, as I sat by her. I'm by nature more of a night person, so I wasn't feeling as tired a she must've been. I felt her shift as she moved to lie down on the bench, her head coming to rest on my lap. I patted her softly on the shoulder. Slowly, slowly, I heard her breathing even out as she fell slowly asleep where she lay.

_Sigh_...

Now for the hard part.

I said a mental 'excuse me' as I gently pulled out her wallet to see where she lived. I saw the name on one of the cards inside.

_Lord_...

Zakuro Fujiwara...

Now I know very little about people in the modelling buisness. Nor have I ever cared about the modelling buisness, _period_. But even I knew who she was. That was common knowledge. You can't go through life without knowing a bit about everything. I do mean _everything_.

After I found out where she lived, I slowly replaced the wallet in her pocket.

Now, how exactly am I going to do this?

I don't want to wake her up, so...

After making sure I had everything, my hat back on my head and my bag slid on an arm, I carefully placed her hat back on her head before slipping one arm behind her back, the other under her knees.

Right, now lift...

She wasn't very heavy really. I am quite strong, though I don't look it. I thought she looked on the _petite_ side in any case, as I walked towards the door. I silently thanked whoever had fitted the doors of the church, as I leaned back on them to push them open. What the hell I would have done if I had to have pulled them, beats me.

I hailed a taxi when I got out from the church, almost too quietly, but as I said, I didn't want to wake her. Not yet at any rate.

By the time the trip ended, it was already about ten to two. I paid the fare, wincing slightly at the price, before descending with her in my arms, down onto the pavement.

So...

Her house is number five...

A large plaque next to me stated in big, bold lettering, 'Number Twenty-Seven'.

_Perfect_...

I carried her as I had done since the church.

When we reached number six, I decided to wake her up.

"Miss?" I quietly whispered in her ear.

"Miss?"

She took her time in waking up. Her eyes opened blearily and she began to wake, all the while with me whispering "Miss?" in her ear. Finally she turned her head and her eyes settled on me.

"Wha...Where am I?"

Now I slowly put her down, so her heels click onto the pavement first. She was a bit unsteady, the sleep not quite leaving her just yet. I took back my coat as I held her steady as I said, in quieter than normal tone, " We're right next to your house, I believe."

She was at a loss I could she. What should she do? I saw the confusion in her eyes. I bent down slightly, so that our eyes were level.

"Don't worry. Everything will be better in the morning." I said, a slightly ironic smile on my face. What I forgot to add at the end was, "hopefully."

She knew what I was really thinking.

She smiled.

_Lord_...

You could have knock me down with a feather. If I had thought she was beautiful when she was crying, now...

_Bugger the Lord_...

As I stood there struck dumb, I got another unexpected surprise.

I saw her close her eyes...

Quick as a flash she leaned in towards me...

...and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

_Lord_...

She turned, walking towards the front gates of her house.

I still stood, rooted to the spot as she looked back, her face very impassive, her face framed by her hair.

I heard a quiet "Thank you".

Then she went in.

I lifted a hand to my lips.

_Soft_...

When I went home, I was virtually skipping.

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Author's Notes: End. Mark you, I'm not sure if this should remaina one shot of become a long story. Tell me what you want/think in your reviews. 

To be a one shot or to be a long story. That is the question. :P

That said, read and review, please. There's more to come, probably... well, soon. Hopefully.


	2. Chapter 2: Chaos of the Day

First of all, I must thank all you wonderful people for reviewing. Two of which in peticular I ought to mention.

Kamyra: Thank you! First reviewer for this story and I thank you for your support and enthusiasm.

Alkira Sonoma: Merci! I thank you for the positives and negatives in your review as they really do help a lot!

Thanks given, we move on to the next chapter. Again, expect nothing fantastic, but enjoy if you can.

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Lord... 

Lord, I _hate_ the morning...

I rolled over, wrapped in my covers, away from a thin sliver of light that had invaded my room.

By the way, had I ever mentioned I am _not_ a morning person?

Sunday mornings, though, are the worst.

_Why_?

Because I had to wake up at the crack of down to go to Church. Listening to a choir warbling away like a bunch of choked pelicans and the priest preaching repeatedly Lord-knows-what is not my idea of a good way to spend the morning. The number of people sitting at the benches don't make it any easier.

I wish I could sleep bit more.

I groaned before rolling over and glancing at my bedside clock.

5:57

I _hate_ Sunday mornings.

I slowly untangled myself from my covers.

Hell, it's _cold_.

I sat at the edge of the bed, trying to gather my thoughts, shivering all the while in my pyjamas.

Almost unconsciously, I lifted a hand to my lips.

_Lord_...

Last night...

A kiss...

If last night turned out to be just a dream...

If last night were only a dream...

_Sigh_...

It would've been the best dream I ever had.

Thank _bugger_ it was all real then, eh?

I slowly got up, stretching and yawning as I did, before I went into the bathroom.

After brushing my teeth, I undressed and prepared to bathe.

Soon the sounds of the shower filled the room. I stepped in, grabbing a bar of soap as I did so. When I finished I reached for the shampoo, a look of disgust on my face as I read the label.

'For oily hair', my _arse_.

I swear, the only thing I ever pour out of this is something to make my hair even greasier.

All the while, I was still thinking about last night...

All the while, I was thinking about her...

_Lord_...

She was _beautiful_...

A little inner voice decided to make itself heard at that moment: 'It's only, what you call, an infatuation, no more, no less. You get over it soon enough'

I wasn't all that sure. Did I really want to get over it?

The answer: No idea.

_Sigh_...

I washed the shampoo off my hair and closed the shower, before reaching for a towel.

After drying and then wrapping the towel around myself, I walked back into my bedroom. It was still quite cold. I shivered as I chose what to wear.

Let's see...

In the end, after having dug through three drawers, I found a thick, black turtleneck and a thick pair of black trousers.

If you haven't got it by now, my favourite colour's black. Pitch black preferred.

It looked cold outside too, but maybe it was just me. Not that I could tell really, seeing as my windows were frosted up.

I opened one, sighing and stuck my head out. I saw...

Bugger...

_Snow_!

I cursed, looking at the streets. I judged it had already a good few inches already. Must've started right after I got home.

At that moment a heap of the stuff decided the time was right to fall off my roof.

I spent the next minute or two swearing at the sky.

I stuck back my head in, shutting the window, shaking away the better part of the powdery, wet, cold stuff.

Bugger...

I pulled on a pair of long, black socks and a winter waistcoat. Opening my wardrobe I fetched a jacket and an overcoat. You can never be too prepared, I always say.

I walked down the stairs, sneezing half way. The last thing I needed was a cold.

What else did I need?

Bag and hat. I grabbed those from the hat rack by the door, as well as a thick woollen scarf.

I was about to open the door when I was struck by a thought.

Would I be hungry later on?

My stomach chose that moment to make itself heard.

I ran to the kitchen. A box of chocolate muffins stood on the table.

I forgot about those...

I had bought them a few days ago, but they still looked quite good. I shoved them into my bag, before running out the front door, grabbing an umbrella as I went.

The door locked behind me as I raced down the street.

Three minutes later, I reached the church and, puffing and panting, I made my way inside.

Lord _damn_ all traffic.

I got to the organ and took out my music notes. I flinched when I saw some had been squashed by the box when I put it into my bag.

A signal from the priest was all I needed.

I began to play.

How long did I play for, you ask?

Lord knows.

I knew the routine well enough though.

Play on until the priest begins to speak. In-between, just keep playing.

I was to follow that routine until lunch, when I was officially off work; someone else would come play.

Wonderful..._not_. It was only five past seven when the priest began to speak.

Five hours left...

My mind wandered as I sat there. I wondered, would she be here, sitting amongst the masses? I scanned the benches. I saw black, white, grey, blonde and even green hair, but not purple.

I sighed.

Green always said vegetable to me for some reason. No idea why, I don't mind the colour.

And the priest stopped speaking.

Here we go again...

Finally...

The clock struck twelve, the priest stopped speaking, and the choir boys buggered off.

_Lunch_!

I was out the door faster than those nearest to it.

And was rewarded with a face full of cold air.

I shivered, looking down the street, wondering which way I should go.

Most of the people were heading down the westerly end of the road, towards the main hub of the city. Most were talking about shopping or seeing movies or other Lord-knows-what. Nothing I could relate to or like.

I went the other way.

Crowds always made me uncomfortable.

I walked past a park and playground, my eyes passing over the empty swings and slide, a layer of snow covering everything.

_Sigh_...

I continued on, past various streets and houses, most covered in the frost. To the right, a cafe seemed to pop into view.

I warn you now, to close your eyes if you hate pink as much as I do.

It wasn't a quiet cream pink either, nor was it a darker, almost red shade. I can stand pinks that are subtle or _un_-pink, if you get what I mean.

This cafe was of a shade of _fluffy_, rinky-dink pink that made you ache at the mouth.

But, looking up and down the road, I saw no other cafe or restaurant open.

_Bugger_...

It was either that, or freeze.

I went inside, not without a few carefully chosen profanities which I threw up into the sky.

The place was cheerfully lit, not really to my taste mark you, and pinks, white and reds dominated every surface. White, I like. the other colours though...

_Yuck_.

I took off my hat as a blonde, undeniably short girl led me to an empty table by a corner. Hyper-activity seemed to be her problem as she bounced, yes, literally _bounced _away to some of the other patrons of the cafe.

I set my hat, bag and umbrella down on an empty chair, before taking off my overcoat and placing on the back of the same chair. I scanned the room.

The place was filled to the brim with girls. Mostly teens, their winter school uniforms betrayed where they came from as they chatted happily about boys, love lives, idols, and so on and so on.

You get the drift.

I saw one or two boys though, none of whom were sitting alone like I was. Boyfriends, as likely as not. I snorted.

If you haven't already realised, I can be a bit of a scrooge at times.

A green haired girl was edging timidly towards my table. I sat there watching her out of the corner of my eye as I continued to watch the other people.

I knew I was frowning, but at times, one does want to be a bit of a mood-killer, if you know what I mean. The cheerful atmosphere did little to really improve my mood.

At any rate, I'd never win the 'most approachable looking person award', what with my clothes a hair and such.

She was about a foot away when I turned to look at her. Sorry, _glare _at her. I was feeling a bit mean at the time, you understand.

She visibly shrank back, looking as though I had brandished a sword at her or something.

My conscience smote me a blow.

I felt guilty.

_Sigh_…

"Hey…" I tried to sound friendly, a weak smile spreading across my features, "Can I help you or anything?"

I knew, for all my efforts, I wouldn't win any 'friendliest looking' contests anytime soon, but her reaction to it was even worse than when I hadn't opened my mouth.

She squeaked before retreating back towards the kitchens.

My smile turned, as they say, upside down as I scowled after her, annoyed that my attempt at being friendly had made the matter worse.

At the moment, I could pretty much _kill_ for a bite to eat and a strong cup of lord-knows-what in hand.

I opened my bag and took out a thick, bound book. Nothing extraordinary about it, just a sketchbook I bought quite a while back.

I flicked past the first few pages; they had already been filled on previous occasions.

I turned to a new blank page and took out a sharp pencil from a pencil case in my bag.

I wrote the date on the top.

What should I sketch?

I saw a girl sitting by a table near the kitchens, sipping at a teacup. She was wearing the same clothes as some of the other waitresses, although hers was of a shade of blue.

She would do nicely.

I began to sketch. At first only a few seemingly random lines littered the page.

As I continued they began to take shape, joining and criss-crossing in every way imaginable. Soon I had a picture perfect drawing of the girl in my book. I began to expand in detail, before I was interrupted.

While I had been sketching, another girl had walked up to my table.

So intently focused was I on what I was doing, that I didn't notice her until a particularly loud cough attracted my attention.

"Yes?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

This one was a red-head. She wasn't my idea of what I'd like to call a _belle femme_. She looked more cute than pretty to be honest. She tapped her foot impatiently and asked, "Are you going to order anything?"

I looked back at her, an impassive look on my face.

If she was going to treat me _that_ way…

"I haven't been given a menu yet," I answered calmly, keeping my eyes fixed on hers.

I saw her open her mouth to reply, before closing it again, slightly unsure of herself.

At least she realised I wasn't at fault…

I saw the green haired girl poke her head out from directly behind the red haired firebrand. I heard her squeak as I looked in her direction. I smiled inwardly to myself.

_Heh_…

A little jack-in-the-box.

She must have been hiding behind the other girl…

I felt a menu pressed into my hands as I turned these thoughts over in my mind. Opening it, I looked it quickly through.

My eyes still scanning the page, I asked, "Do you have anything that isn't so...so cake-based?"

She shook her head, tapping her foot in impatience as she waited for me to choose.

_Bugger_...

I sighed before saying, "Tea, English Breakfast if you've got, with milk and sugar and a chocolate fondant, please."

I handed the menu back to her and took up my pencil, continuing where I left off.

It took about fifteen minutes for the food to arrive, by which time I was making the final adjustments on the drawing. I heard a clink of plates and dishes and the green haired girl's voice came, stuttering, but clear from across the other side of the table. "Yo...You're food, s...s...Sir..."

I merely grunted in answer, still intent on finishing.

Suddenly, I heard a squeal behind me. I turned and found the blonde hyper-active midget standing on a chair behind me, staring with childish delight at my drawing.

Without any warning, she snatched at it.

"Let go!" I bellowed, as I struggled to keep the book in my hands, the girl pulling back just as hard. I was pretty strong, as I've already told you, but this girl was yanking like mad, her feet planted on the back of my chair, her legs giving her enough strength to keep the battle running.

She was yelling "Na no da! I wanna show Minto-san!"

"I don't buggering care who the hell Minto is! Let _go_!"

Green-hair was now trying to pull the little monkey girl off, her glasses all askew. She was whimpering quietly where she stood, her arms wrapped around the other girls waist.

Most of the other guests were now watching, most with a look of shock or amazement plastered on their faces. Only two of the other guests, one blonde, the other brunette, continued whatever they were doing despite the chaos. The girl I was sketching was still placidly sipping at her tea.

Must be used to it...

Though I was still shouting, I was laughing inside. How often, I wonder, does such a thing have to happen to make it considered as _usual_?

I swung round, the two girls still stuck fast to my book. I continued to swing them round and round, heir feet lifting from the floor and both began screaming, one from fright, the other, delight. But as I whirled them round faster and faster, I felt my book slowly slipping out of my grasp.

Oh _bugger_...

The book flew out of my hands. The girls flew backwards, sailing through the kitchen door at the other end of the room. I heard the crash and clatter of plates breaking, as I myself fell backwards onto the floor.

As I fell, my back crashed into the metal frame of the table.

_Crap _that hurts...

I saw the blonde girl run back out the kitchen girl shouting at the top of her lungs, "Minto-san!!! He was sketching you!"

The girl who was drinking tea dropped her teacup. The smashing of china was accompanied by a shriek of "What!"

Oh _crud…_

She ran towards the blonde girl, who waved my sketchbook in front of her face. The green haired girl and the red headed firebrand also joined them and all four looked into my sketchbook.

I muttered a very, _very_ long string of profanities under my breath.

They finally stopped goggling at the picture of the girl. To my horror, I saw them turning over the page to look at what I had drawn on the page before.

_Damn_!

I leapt to my feet and charged towards them. I had drawn a fully coloured picture of Zakuro, the young, simply _beautiful_ lady I met the other night. It was a drawing of her asleep on the church bench; I had drawn it from memory. That drawing took me the entire night to draw.

That drawing, I felt, was my masterpiece.

That drawing was _private_.

I dived towards them, my hands reaching for my sketchbook. The little monkey girl held it out of reach as my dive knocked us all through the kitchen doors.

We all lay in a messy heap on the kitchen floor, me on the bottom of the pile for some reason, the rest of them sprawled on top, each groaning about various aches and bruises they managed to achieve. The only one who seemed uninjured was the hyper-active little monkey. She just sat on top of the rest of us.

Foul, little _harridan_...

I slowly got up on all four, shaking the girls off me like a dog would after a bath. I got to my feet, straightening out my clothes as I looked around for the blonde little monster. A brown haired cook was staring at me as I did, and I bowed apologetically.

"Pardon the interruption, sir, but have you see a little blonde...girl?"

It took a considerable time to get him to understand my question. He simply stared at me. I sighed in impatience.

Finally, he nodded and pointed back out the kitchen doors and mutely indicated I should go to the right.

"Thank you."

I growled as I stepped out the doors and walked up a flight of pink coloured stair to the right.

Bloody _idiot_, the cook was...

At the top of the flight of stairs was a corridor. Heart-shaped windows punctured the walls at regular intervals. Like the dining area below, the corridor was mostly pink, red and white.

I heard a noise in a room to my right. The door was opened halfway, and the sound of the monkey girl's voice floated out of it. A plaque on the door said 'Girl's Changing Room'.

"Bugger," I hissed, and contemplated what my next move would be. I decided to knock.

_Tap_, _tap_, _tap_...

I rapped sharply on the door. A voice cried from inside, "Come in! Na no da!"

I took a deep breath and flung the door wide open, just as a second voice, one hautingly familiar, suddenly answer the first, "No! Don't!"

Too late.

"Give me back my sket..." The words died on my lips.

I stared.

The blonde girl was in the room, still bouncing about, but I only had eyes for the other person in the room.

_Lord_...

I was struck dumb. A piece of Paradise on Earth could not had compared with her. I felt like I had stepped into the tales of Ancient Greece, for before me stood a Helen of Troy, a face that could launch a thousand ships. One that could burn the topless towers of Illium. A mortal Aphrodite, free from the corruptions of the world. She was beauty personified, before whom all other worldly beauties fell to their knees in shame.

Zakuro Fujiwara stood in the middle of the room, her violet eyes fixed on mine, an expression of shock and embarrassment frozen on her face. Her hair was wet, and the scent of roses was filling the room. I saw an open door to the left of her. A bathroom, I guessed. The only thing she was wearing was a large towel wrapped around her, which was, thankfully, long enough to hide everything that needed to be hid.

My cheeks were flushing a bright red. An achievement in itself, you understand, as I almost never, ever blush. My hair did little to hide my own embarrassment.

She blushed as well.

The blonde girl leapt up and waved my drawing of the other girl in her face. Her eyes flew towards it, and I saw her cheeks blush even redder.

I slowly grew redder as well and began to back out the door, pulling it quickly shut behind me.

I sat right next to the door, my red face buried in my hands.

I moaned quietly to myself.

Lord, I am such an _idiot_...

After what seemed like a long time, the door opened and Zakuro stepped out, dressed in an outfit not unlike the other girls, save purple.

I looked up at her from where I sat, my face still as red as a tomato.

She looked back, her face impassive and I felt compelled to apologise.

"I'm sorry."

She stared at me, her face betraying nothing.

I began to stand up and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't mean to...to..."

She cut me off, her eyes fixed on mine, her voice cold, "I know."

I sighed, a look of misery on my face, "I'm such an idiot."

She said quietly, her voice a little softer, "It's not your fault."

I merely sighed.

She walked down the stairs, and I followed. I said again, "I'm so sorry."

She didn't answer.

We reached the bottom of the steps and I proceeded to walk back to my table, my face as impassive as I could make it. I was still red, I noticed.

I sat down. My tea was still there, as was the fondant. Both were stone cold. I ate them anyway. I had lost my appetite when all the action began at any rate.

The green haired girl was up and about and I asked for the bill.

I paid without much ceremony and began to get ready to leave. I had my hat and coats on, my bag in one hand, my umbrella in the other.

I walked out the front door.

Just as I took my first step out into the snow, a hand grabbed my arm from behind.

I turned around.

Zakuro stood there, my sketchbook in one hand.

"This is yours, I think."

I took it.

"Thank you."

She turned away. So did I.

I had walked to the pavement, and began to walk down the road. I opened my sketchbook, just to check if any of the drawings inside had been damaged. When I got to the page with the drawing of her, a piece of paper fell out.

I picked it up.

Someone had written a note in pen.

_Please meet me tonight in the park __at 7:30. Do not be late. I forgive you_

_for what happened in the changing __room. As I said, it wasn't your fault. _

_Zakuro_

_PS. The drawing was beautiful._

I looked up at the sky.

I sighed contentedly.

The day was simply _wonderful_.

* * *

Author's Note: All hell broke loose as usual! As before, read and review, please. Criticisms, preferably constructive, and suggestions will be noted. Hope you enjoyed. :P 


	3. Chapter 3: Frantic Preparations

Author's Notes: FINALLY!! I can't believe it took this long to get another chapter up. Mark you, it's been bedlam over here what with our upcoming exams and O-levels. I am so dead. Anyway, review people. Maybe they might help me survive the coming weeks.

Oh, and thank you all those people who have review or favourited this story. You guys really know how to put a ray of sunshine on a rainy day.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tokyo Mew Mew, obviously.

_Sigh_...

My room was quite the battlefield. Mismatched socks (When I say mismatched, I mean of different shades of black, some grey, others, well...), coats, trousers and other clothes lay in heaps on the floor. Here and there, a scarf snaked out onto the floor as I flew across the room, emptying drawers or digging through piles from some article of clothing.

It's actually quite odd to see my room this messy. I'm not a 'neat-freak' by any means, but I do keep a relatively tidy room, you understand.

Throughout my mad search, I kept tugging on my hair. Stupid thing. I had spent the rest of the day shampooing and washing the stuff, but it still stayed limp.

Maybe I ought to just shave the lot of it off...

The clock beside my bed decided to make itself heard at that moment.

_Crap_. I hopped towards the damned thing, pulling on a pair of trousers. I didn't bother with the 'Off Alarm' switch. I simply swiped the bloody thing off my bedside table. It bounced once off the floor before embedding itself in a large pile of rejected shirts. The alarm cut off.

I smiled evilly to myself. Me: 1, Clock: 0

Did I ever mention I really, _really_ hate my clock?

In another minute, I was standing before a mirror, carefully making some final touches to my attire. I had on a black shirt underneath, a waistcoat on top of that, a black cravat around my neck and a black pair of trousers. Every thing was pretty much the same, save slightly more...over-the-top extravagant, maybe?

I prefer the word 'elegant'.

With my coat and scarf on, I walked down the stairs. The kitchen table was just about as messy as my room. Even worse, come to think about it. The table, an old, scratched oaken one was covered in bits of solid wire, each silvery and shiny, and about a millimetre in diameter, as well as a couple of those long-nosed pliers.

A soldering iron lay on a large wooden cutting board next to the kitchen stove.

You're probably wondering what the hell has been going on, yes?

Promise not to laugh?

_Sigh._

A little history lesson. A couple of years back, before I got the job in the church, I wanted to become an artist. Got interested in architecture and that sort of thing, so I decided to take it as one of my subjects in school.

I failed the course abysmally.

Why?

I never could get off me backside to do the amount of work required by the course. Only subject I ever failed at too.

The only good thing my teacher ever said about me was that I did have the talent for art, drawings, sculptures, three dimensional arts, and the lot.

Especially metal-working. I got it from my grandfather, I think.

Fast forward to the present. For once, I am actually putting that talent into use. Of course, I haven't touched art since school, so I was a bit rusty at first (never mind the part when I burned myself with the bloody soldering iron).

Anyway, I was making a bouquet of about two dozen roses.

Twenty-four roses.

Out of wire.

It took a while, and not without a little accident or two and half a dozen, counting the number of times I clipped myself with the pliers, but I managed it in the end.

As I surveyed my little masterpiece, I pulled up a chair and sat down a frown on my face.

I've had my share of affairs and romantic escapades and, truth be told, they've really ended without quite a bit of heart-break on my end.

I wonder…

Maybe this time might be an exception.

_I hope…_

I glanced up at the clock I kept in the kitchen.

It was an old cuckoo clock, a relic of my grandfather's. It was quite unique, you understand, mostly because it was…_artistique_, as my mother always said. My grandfather was always interested in art and used to own an old-fashioned black-smithy passed down to him by his father. Got demolished in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 23', unfortunately.

Still, he managed to make one last lovely piece of art before the disaster. A fairly large, complex, steel cuckoo clock.

_My_ cuckoo clock.

The time was now…

_Oh __bloody._

Twenty past seven.

Ten minutes to get to the park!

I gathered up the bouquet in my arms before racing out the kitchen and then the front door, having thrown my overcoat and hat on, whilst grabbing my bag and an umbrella on the way. I stopped only for a fraction of a moment to lock my door, before I was racing through the frosted streets, umbrella and bag in one hand, the bouquet cradle in the other arm.

I finally slowed down as I reached the park. Not an easy thing I can assure you, seeing as the ground was frozen solid and slippery as heck. I managed to avoid flattening my nose on a streetlamp as I skidded to a halt.

I glanced at my watch. It was twenty-eight past seven.

_I made it._

As I stood there, patting myself on the back at how I wasn't late, a thought occurred to me.

_Where_ were we supposed to meet again?

_Bugge__r…_

I looked into the park.

Maybe she's inside already.

Heck, she's probably sitting on on of the benches waiting for me.

_Sigh…_

I went through the entrance into the park.

* * *

I am EVIL!! Cliffhanger! I hope you'll forgive me for not really moving the story along very much this chapter, but I swear I'll make it up next time! :P


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